Reignition
by Wordsplat
Summary: Both Tony and Steve forget about Valentine's Day, but luckily they've got Peter to remind them. Oneshot, Steve/Tony.


It's not that Tony wasn't madly in love with his husband, because he was.

Six years of marriage, two years of dating, more than a decade of friendship, and Tony couldn't imagine what it was like not tolove him. Not to feel at ease when Steve so much as walked into a room, to feel warmed to the core when he smiled or laughed or looked at Tony so much affection it was simply uncontainable. Not to gravitate towards him, to have his hands drawn to him constantly and without thought, pressing the small of his back, squeezing the curve of his shoulder, clasping behind his neck. Not to communicate at length through a series of subtle looks, expressions, and touches they'd used so many times over the years that words were laughably unnecessarily. Steve was the last person he wanted to talk to every night, the first person he wanted to see in the mornings, and when business trips and long-term missions interfered with that he _loathed _it. He would do or be or give up absolutely anything for Steve, and Steve would do the same. He knew that.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy doing special things for Steve, either, because of course he did. It was just that the desperation-tinged need he'd felt to prove himself worthy had long abated. He was comfortable, was _secure. _He didn't need to do anything special to earn Steve's love; he had it, and Steve had his. Whatever the events of the day, whether he failed at everything he tried or reshaped the future of the world, Steve would still wrap him up in his arms at the end of it all, still kiss him goodnight and tell him he loved him. It was a wonderful, beautiful thing, and Tony was deeply, immensely grateful for it.

He just forgot that sometimes.

God, he was such a dick.

It wasn't that he didn't show his appreciation for his husband, because he _did. _Admittedly, they weren't always going out for walks in Central Park like they used to, but they were busy. They had a son, things were different. They had more responsibilities to balance, relished their limited free time a little more. Getting up and going all the way to Central Park felt like a lot more work after fighting a screaming toddler for an hour about how _yes, honey, you really are tired, just put your head on the pillow and close your eyes for a few minutes, just three minutes, can you do that for Daddy and Papa pretty please? _Alright, so it might've been a little while since Tony had dropped by SHIELD to steal Steve away for lunch, and Steve didn't exactly lure Tony out of the workshop with filthy promises like he used to either, and it might've been a month or two since they'd had a real, official _date…_but that didn't mean they were getting complacent.

It _didn't._

They did plenty of things together. Sure, their schedules were hectic during the day, coordinated and organized specifically to minimize the amount of time Peter had to spend in the care of anyone that wasn't them, but that didn't mean they didn't still see each other. And okay, it was mostly in the evenings, when they were focused a lot more on corralling Peter than giving each other much more attention than a quick hello kiss and a half-hearted how was your day, but it was hard to focus on each other when they had a three year old who couldn't understand why using permanent markers on the walls was a bad thing. They'd been busy when they were dating too, anyways. This was just a different kind of busy.

He was such a fucking liar.

Tony woke up that day with two big brown eyes about an inch from his face. He gave a loud, startled shout and tried to get into a defensive position, but wound up tangling in the sheets instead. He climbed half on top of Steve and accidentally kneed him in the stomach, earning himself a dismayed, moody grunt from the now awake supersoldier. Steve rolled over, shoving Tony nearly off the bed and giving a grumpy sigh at the intruder to their bedroom.

"Peter, what did we say about waking your father like that?" He raised a critical eyebrow at their son.

Peter just giggled like madman.

"That it's rude," Tony reminded Peter, who didn't seem likely to offer the answer, "And that if you love me you'll wake your Papa, because _he_ doesn't have a potentially fatal heart condition—"

"We're calling laziness a heart condition now?" Steve snorted into his pillow.

"How did marrying the one person sassier than me ever seem like a good idea?" Tony scowled, disentangling himself from the sheets by kicking them off.

"I was very convincing." Steve scooted closer, throwing an arm around Tony's waist and pulling him close enough to nip at his ear. "Now go feed your son."

"Feed me!" Peter threw his hands up exuberantly, slapping them down on the bed repeatedly to encourage Tony to hurry up.

"Don't you want Papa to feed you?" Tony tried to encourage.

"No, I want _you _t'feed me, Daddy," Peter wasn't buying it.

"Daddy's sleepy." Tony gave a loud, drawn-out yawn.

"No you're _not_," Peter whined, grabbing Tony's hand and yanking as hard as he could manage. Tony groaned. Steve unhelpfully nuzzled closer and closed his eyes again. "C'mon, Daddy, 's been ages!"

Steve snorted a laugh into Tony's shoulder. "Only got yourself to blame. You taught him that one."

Peter gave up on his attempts to tug Tony out of bed and impatiently wriggled his way up instead. He scooted closer and smacked him excitedly in the face, in what the toddler probably thought was encouragement.

"Hey." The arm Steve had around Tony's waist shot out to grab Peter's hand before it could happen a second time. "We don't hit, Peter."

"Sorry, Papa." Peter's lower lip wobbled. "Didn't mean it."

"Nice, fake waterworks." Tony snorted. "You really are a Stark."

"Da-ad," Peter complained, dropping the fake-cry act to whine, "I'm hungry, c'mon."

"Of course you are." Tony reluctantly slipped out of Steve's embrace to sit up, scoop Peter into his arms. "You're my little eating machine, aren't you?"

"Not a m'sheen!"

"I'm sorry, that's right, you're my little eating robot," Tony corrected, flipping Peter in his arms so he could deliver a loud raspberry to Peter's bare tummy.

"No, no Daddy!" Peter shrieked, but the wide, giggly grin on his face contradicted his words. "I'm not a bot!"

"What? You mean I didn't build you in my lab?"

"No!" Peter insisted, "I'm a boy!"

"Ohh." Tony nodded sagely. "A boy-bot."

"Da-ad!"

"Is Daddy teasing you again?" Steve stayed on his side, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other stretched out on the bed where Tony had been. He was watching his boys with a warm, content smile. "Maybe you should come hide in bed with me, huh Pete?"

"Yeah!" Peter squirmed, trying to escape Tony's arms. "Wanna hide with Papa!"

"I bet you do." Tony laughed, turning Peter around and tossing him on the bed. Peter squealed with delight, wiggling under Steve's open arm. "Better hide, the Daddy monster's gonna getcha!"

"Hide me, Papa!" Peter giggled, clutching Steve's sleep shirt tightly in his little fists.

Tony leapt back onto the bed, bouncing them both. Peter yelped, and Steve maneuvered Peter under and behind him. Peter was against his back now, peeking over his shoulder, and he made a little 'eep' when Tony starting advancing with a growl.

"Run, Pete, I'll distract him!" Steve suggested, and Peter hopped off the other side of the bed, taking off out of the room and down the hall. Steve wasted no time scooting forward to throw his arm back around Tony and pull him into a good morning kiss, murmuring against his lips, "Morning, monster."

"Morning, darling."

"Papa-a!" Peter figured out their ruse and reappeared within seconds, making a disgusted face as he wiggled back into bed and climbed on Tony's back. "You're not s'pos'a kiss a mons'er."

"Uh-oh." Steve gasped dramatically. "You're right. I think he passed his monster cooties to me."

"Mons'er cooties?" Peter frowned in confusion, even as he wrapped his arms around Tony's neck affectionately.

"It means I made him a monster, Pete!" Tony exclaimed, grabbing Peter's legs and hoisting him up onto his back, hopping off the bed. "Run!"

Steve gave a loud roar, and the chase was on.

He could have caught them in a second—Tony was going on fifty and carrying a three year old, he was not exactly at optimal speed here—but Steve dawdled. He stayed just far enough behind them that Tony could make it to the living room before tackling them both with a laugh. Tony and Peter hit the couch and bounced; Steve caught Peter before he bounced off the couch, and proceeded to tickle him into the cushions in spite of Peter's screeching protest. Tony turned over to press a smacking kiss to Peter's nose and another to Steve's cheek, then rolled off the couch and ambled into the connected kitchen.

"Pancakes or waffles, bot-boy?"

"Waffle waffle waffle!" Peter wriggled out of Steve's grip enough to pop his head up over the back of the couch.

"Did I say I was done with you?" Steve chastised, scooping Peter up around the waist, throwing him over his shoulder and joining Tony in the kitchen. He ignored Peter's pleased squeals to address Tony. "Are you even capable of making waffles without burning the Tower down?"

"I did manage to feed myself for the three decades before I met you, y'know." Tony rolled his eyes as he pulled out the wafflemaker. "I think I'll manage."

"I'm still not entirely certain you didn't find a way to sustain yourself on coffee and top ramen." Steve pressed a kiss to Tony's cheek, and Peter gave a disgruntled shout of complaint from over Steve's shoulder.

"Quit kissin', Daddies!"

"Never," Steve announced to Peter defiantly.

Tony just laughed, tugging Steve into a proper kiss by his shirt collar. Steve kept a firm grip on their son with one hand, dropping the other to Tony's hip and hugging him close.

"I have to get ready." Steve pulled away first with a sigh, letting Peter down off his shoulder. "They want me to come in early today."

It was Friday; Mondays, Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays, Steve went in to SHIELD. Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were when Tony put in office time. Thursdays were the one day they left Peter in the care of others, usually some variation of Sam, Bruce, Clint and or Natasha. On the rare occasion all the Avengers were busy, Happy was called in, unless Rhodey, who adored Peter and took every opportunity to babysit, happened to be in town. Their scheduling system worked; it was just a busy one.

"No!" Peter shouted, surprising them both.

"I have to work today, buddy, I'm sorry." Steve crouched down, pulling Peter in and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "It's Friday, remember? Daddy's going to stay with you today. Tell you what, we'll all play heroes and villains when I get home though, how's that sound?"

"But you can't go today!" Peter looked heartbroken.

"Why not today, Peter?" Steve frowned, glancing over his shoulder to check with Tony. Tony shrugged. He wasn't even sure what the date was.

"You hafta stay for a minute," Peter insisted, then took off down the hall as fast as his little legs could go without waiting for an answer.

"Birthday?" Steve frowned, standing back up.

"Three months to go." Tony tapped a finger to his own chest, then at Steve. "Five. And Pete's was two months ago."

"We adopted him in summer." Steve looked suitably puzzled. "Can't be that."

"Is it one of the other's birthdays?"

"Bruce and Thor were also in December, Natasha and Sam were back in September, and Clint isn't until March." Steve ticked them off on his fingers.

"It can't be another holiday already, we just finished Christmas."

"I wouldn't say just."

"Well, _someone _still hasn't taken the tree to the recycling center."

"I can't today, I've got work and—"

"And after work you and Peter can go, he likes the big tree crushing machine anyway—"

"Why don't _you _take it to the center if it's so important to—"

"Because you said _you _would and it's been months, I'm tired of—"

"Happy Valentine's Day, Daddies!"

Both men froze.

Peter beamed up at them, toothy grin and bright eyes at maximum levels of endearing, little arms held open wide to loft up an enormous red construction paper heart. It had white lacey edges and enough glitter to cover a mountain, the stuff falling like shiny snow to the kitchen floor as Peter shook the valentine a little for emphasis. The center was covered with little blue triangles, white stars, and dinosaur stickers around some writing, but Peter excitedly bounded over to the kitchen table before either of them could read it. Peter wriggled up into a chair and laid the heart out on the table, patting his hands along the edges carefully, smoothing it down.

Tony exchanged a glance with his equally alarmed-looking husband.

On the plus side, at least they'd both screwed up.

"Come'n look!" Peter called to them, and they both unfroze at the same time to move to Peter's side, peer over his shoulder. "Daddy those're your r'actors an' Papa those're your stars an' those're my 'saurs! An' I also put lots'a hearts in the middle cause the TV said if you love someone y'gotta give 'em your heart."

"What TV show was this?" Steve's brow got the little wrinkle it did when Peter—or, admittedly, Tony—said something both confusing and a little worrisome.

"Uncle Clint an' me watched Dog Cops yes'erday." Peter beamed, completely unaware that he'd just ratted his uncle out and that Clint would now be on double training for a month. "An' there was a c'mercial on about lady stuff in the middle."

"What kind of lady stuff, Pete?" Tony asked with trepidation. If his three year old said the word 'tampons', he was going to throw Clint off the roof of the Tower.

"The shiny stuff." Peter struggled to remember the word for it. "Like Papa's tags?"

"Oh." Steve's face went awash with relief, and Tony knew he'd been thinking the same thing. "You mean a jewelry commercial?"

"Yeah, I think so." Peter wasn't particularly interested in their questions anymore, and instead redirected their attention back to his Valentine. "But d'you like it? When I asked Uncle Clint about the c'mercial he said today was gonna be the holiday of love, an' I said I loved you guys a lot, so he said I should make you a valentine."

"Is that from Lilo and Stitch?" Steve smiled. Tony followed his gaze to the center of the valentine, where it said, in Clint's handwriting, _Ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten._

"Yeah." Peter bounced a little in his seat. "I chosed it cause I'm like Stitch, I got found stead'a made, but you're not gonna leave me b'hind or let me get forgotten. Ever, right?"

"Never ever," Steve promised, and they both moved at the same time to squeeze Peter in a tight hug between them.

"Even if I broke stuff a lot, like Stitch?" Peter checked.

"Not even if you broke the whole Tower," Tony assured him.

"What about the world?" Peter asked seriously.

"Not even if you broke the whole wide world." Steve laughed, pressing a kiss to his little cheek.

"This is a fantastic valentine, Peter." Tony did the same to his boy's other cheek. "We love it."

"So you'll be my valentine?" Peter brightened, turning from Tony to Steve. "Both'a you?"

"Of course." Steve squeezed his shoulder.

"So where's mine?" Peter demanded. They both laughed, until they realized he was being quite serious and now looked mournful in the face of their laughter.

"Oh, Petey." Tony bit his lip. "I'm sorry, buddy, we—"

"Can't give you your valentine until tonight," Steve interrupted him with a quick, telling glance. Tony raised his eyebrow, tilted his head a little; _nice save. _"We're still making it."

"Cause it's big?" Peter's lit up, eyes going wide and gleeful, and Tony resisted the urge to groan. Great, now he'd have to dabble in arts and crafts. He'd be scrubbing glitter glue off his skin for the next week.

"The biggest," Tony promised.

"Whoa," Peter exhaled, awestruck and appreciative.

"Now, can you watch Handy Manny all by yourself like a big boy, or do we need to come with you?" Steve asked, knowing just how to phrase it to get Peter's compliance.

"I can do it," Peter insisted, "JARVIS does all the buttons, 's easy."

"Okay." Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead. "One episode."

"Before breakfast?" Peter's little eyes boggled.

"A reward for the best valentine we've ever received," Tony told him, "And TV before breakfast isn't going to be a habit, Peter, it's just this once. Understand?"

"Got it!" Peter promised, bouncing out of the chair. He started for the door, but thought better of it. He turned back and hugged them both tightly. "Love you, Daddy, love you, Papa. Happy Valentine's Day!"

Then he was off, racing out the door gleefully before they could change their minds.

"Clint is so totally—" Tony started, and Steve agreed immediately.

"—and completely banned from watching Peter alone for at least two months. Dog Cops. _Dog Cops! _Honestly, what was he thinking? There's drug abuse on that show, they _shoot _people on that show—" Tony shuffled closer to lean into his husband. Steve sighed, shifting gears, and wrapped both arms around Tony before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. "I'm sorry I forgot, sweetheart."

"It's okay. I did too." Tony curled a hand around the back of Steve's neck and tugged him down for a long, satisfying kiss. "I love you. I don't say that enough."

"You tell me every day—" Steve began, eyes going soft the way they always did when he thought Tony was being too hard on himself.

"Not meaningfully." Tony shook his head. "We say it in passing and I'm not saying we don't mean it, but I'm telling you now that I loveyou, Steve, and I know we've got the whole 'settled down' thing going for us, but I don't want you to think that just because I'm comfortable that I'm not still—I mean, there's love and there's _in love_ and I'm still in love with you, honey, that spark is still there if we just—"

"If we grab it with both hands." Steve finished for him in agreement, one hand going behind Tony's head and the other catching his back as he dipped him into a kiss not unlike the one they'd shared at the altar. When Steve released him, Tony didn't get far. Probably couldn't have, lack of oxygen to the brain and all. "I'm still in love with you too, Tony. Never stopped being, not for one single minute. You know what? I'm going to call SHIELD."

"You know I'm all for a little PDA, darling, but I'm fairly certain calling them to gloat about how much you love me is just rude."

"I meant I'm going to call in sick." Steve chuckled. "Though I suppose calling in sick on Valentine's Day amounts to about the same."

"Particularly when you're a supersoldier immune to every strain of disease in existence." Tony smiled wryly. "But I of course vote that you do it anyway."

"I want to make this Valentine's Day a meaningful one," Steve told him earnestly, "So we both forgot earlier, who gives a damn? We've got busy lives and a son to look after in the middle of it, things get forgotten. But we need to make space for each other every once in a while, too. We need to, and I want to."

"I want to too," Tony assured, caressing a thumb over Steve's jaw.

"So let's take a day." Steve smiled, wide and pleased and he was still so breathtakingly handsome Tony was stunned he'd ever managed to get used to this. "We don't get nearly enough time together all three of us. One of us is always away at work during the day, and come evening we're too tired to have any fun. Let's go…oh, you know where we should go?"

"Where should we go?" Tony smiled fondly, sliding his arms up and around Steve's neck.

"Why don't you try and guess?" Steve inclined his head a little closer, giving Tony's bottom lip an affectionate nip. "First place we ever took Peter."

"We may be a little rusty at this, but I think even you know the doctor's office isn't very romantic," Tony teased, though he knew exactly where Steve really meant.

"Lord, how he screamed at those needles." Steve winced. "I was thinking more along the lines of the zoo."

"I thought you swore off the zoo after that tarantula crawled up your shirt?" Tony laughed. The panicked look on his usually unflappable husband's face had been utterly priceless. Tony's only regret was lack of pictures.

"We're not going anywhere _near _the interactive exhibit." Steve gave a little shudder in memory. "But the rest should be fine."

"Sounds good." Tony smiled.

"Then, later, once Peter goes down for his nap…" Steve's arms went just a little tighter around him, voice hitting Tony's favorite tone, the promising one that meant Steve would be determined to be at the top of his game tonight. Tony would have to work to keep up with _that _voice, but then, that was half the fun.

"Now we're talking." Tony curled his fingers in the hair along the back of Steve's neck, just the way he liked. Steve softened instinctively at the touch, and Tony gave him a brief kiss. "Go call in. I'll finish breakfast."

"I love you, Tony." Steve pulled him closer and kissed him again, properly.

"I love you too." Tony squeezed his arm, then pushed him along. "But another kiss like that and we'll never make it out of the house."

"Tempting as that sounds, Peter might be a little curious where we disappeared to."

"Not to mention hungry." Tony snorted. "Squirt's got your appetite."

"How, exactly, do you figure that?" Steve laughed.

"Osmosis?" Tony made a vague, wavy hand gesture. "I'm a scientist, Steve, just trust me on this."

"Alright, Tony." Steve smiled, humoring him. "I trust you."

"Damn straight." Tony winked, then returned to the now heated wafflemaker while Steve went off in search of his phone.

Tony had the first plate of waffles finished and was about to start on Peter's when Steve re-entered the kitchen, cleaned up and dressed for the day. The man took wicked fast showers—when Tony didn't interfere, of course. He should do that tomorrow, he thought. Surprise Steve like he used to.

"They didn't even pretend to buy it." Steve tucked his phone into his pocket with a wry chuckle, taking a seat and tossing the newspaper he'd brought in with him onto the table. "I barely got a word in. You know how they answered the phone? I said 'good morning, it's—' and Pembroke cut in with 'Commander Stark, cutting for Valentine's Day, we know'. How could they know? I didn't even know, until a half hour ago."

"They've seen us together, they know you go all weak in the knees for my animal magnetism," Tony teased, bringing Steve's plate and the syrup over to him.

"Tony." Steve rolled his eyes fondly, but went about drowning his tower of waffles in syrup as he always did. "Could you—?

"Already done." Tony handed him the ready mug of coffee.

"If I wasn't already in love." Steve accepted it with a grateful smile.

"You going to be this sappy all day?" None of this was new; whoever had work off always made breakfast and coffee.

"You mean am I going to use the excuse of Valentine's Day to point out how much I appreciate all the little things you do?" Steve glanced up, smile gone soft and fond. "How much you, how much our whole life together, means to me? You bet I am."

"Well, now you're just trying to make me competitive."

"Is it working?"

"You know it is." Tony flashed him a grin over his shoulder, flipping the last of the waffles onto Peter's favorite dinosaur plate. "JARVIS, tell Peter his breakfast's ready."

"Of course, sir."

Tony went about cutting Pete's waffle up into suitably small pieces, then retrieved a sippy cup of milk and one of the kiddie forks. He finished setting it all up in front of Peter's chair right as he heard the pitter patter of tiny feet down the hall. Peter skidded to a halt in the doorway, looking delighted as he took in the sight of Steve relaxing at the kitchen table and casually reading through the paper, clearly going nowhere fast.

"You gonna stay with us today, Papa?" Peter beamed, pushing his chair towards Steve's. Once the chairs were bumped up together, Peter climbed into his and pulled his plate and sippy cup over.

"I was thinking you me and your Dad could use a day just the three of us." Steve smiled at him. "What do you think?"

"Yeah!" Peter lit up, grabbing his fork and stabbing at his waffle enthusiastically. "We can read an' play diggers an'—

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Pete." Tony chuckled, pouring himself a cup of coffee and grabbing the last plate of waffles before joining them at the table. "Swallow first."

"Kay," Peter answered through a mouthful of food.

"We can play with the diggers for a little while," Tony told him, "But we were thinking maybe a little later we'd go to the zoo. Would you like that?"

Peter's eyes just about popped out of his head, and he stood up on his chair excitedly. "Yes yes yes can I bring my cycl'pedia? An' can we look at the piders? An' the lions an' the otters an' the—"

"Don't stand on the chair like that, you'll fall." Steve laughed, tugging Peter down by the back of his shirt. "But yes, we can see all the animals you want."

"Valentine's Day is the _best," _Peter declared, shoveling more of his waffle into his mouth.

* * *

The zoo was fairly empty for a Friday, though what it lacked in crowds it made up for in young, very _enthusiastic _couples.

"Lookit that guy, Papa!" Peter pointed. "You carry Daddy like that sometimes. He must be real strong, is he a supersoldier too?"

"I don't think so. Look at the tiger, Peter, isn't it big?" Steve's cheeks went a bit pink, mostly at Peter's volume, and tried to redirect his attention.

"Ew." Peter made a face as the couple became more engaged. In spite of his protest, he seemed unable to stop staring. "Why're they doin' that?"

"It's the holiday of love, remember?" Tony reminded him, "People are just showing their affection. It's not polite to stare though, Peter. Why don't I lift you up so you can see the tigers better?"

"Do you and Papa do that?" Peter was still scrunching his nose up at the couple, who were at least thankfully far enough away that they couldn't hear Peter's nosey questions.

"Sometimes. Look, now the tiger is—"

"But you said biting people was bad."

"They're not biting, they're kissing." Steve sighed. "Come see the tiger, it's right up against the glass—"

"You're not gonna kiss _me _like that, are you?" Peter stared at them, horrified.

"Nope." Steve hoisted Peter up onto his shoulders, his voice leaving no room for further discussion. "Ignore the people for a little while, Peter. Look at the tigers. Do you see the really big one, in the back?"

"Uh-huh." Peter nodded, and Steve stepped closer to the glass. Peter pressed his hands up against it, sufficiently re-entranced by the animals. Steve and Tony exchanged a fondly exasperated glance.

They continued on their way after a little while longer, letting Peter race ahead so long as he stayed in eyesight, hanging back to hold hands and talk a little in private.

"I feel old even saying this." Tony eyed a couple that was getting particularly handsy on a park bench. "But I don't remember being quite that public."

"Different lives." Steve quirked his head a little. "If we were like that when we were dating, it would've been on the cover of every gossip rag in the country."

"We could always make up for lost time." Tony winked.

"I'm more than happy to press you up against the next exhibit," Steve murmured, a playful look in his eyes, "So long as you're the one who explains it to Peter."

"Not worth it." Tony quickly retracted the offer.

"Thought so." Steve grinned. The grin faltered a little, faded to more of a smile. "Besides, truth be told…I prefer keeping you to myself."

"Someone's getting possessive in their old age," Tony teased.

"Always been that. But it also feels…"

"Less special." Tony filled in the blank.

"A bit like a show." Steve agreed. "We get too little time together as it is, I don't want to waste any of it showing off for strangers. I already know I'm the luckiest man alive, I don't need to prove it to anyone but you."

"I'd kiss you properly for that." Tony kissed his cheek. "But then neither of us would have eyes on Peter and I think we both know how horribly that would go."

"He'd be in the lion pit the second we closed our eyes." Steve chuckled.

"Or stuffing a tarantula down a stranger's shirt." Tony grinned at him.

"Better them than me." Steve shuddered. Tony laughed.

"Daddy, Papa!" Peter called mournfully, smacking his hands up against the aquarium glass. "The man'tee won't play with me!"

"It's because you're scaring him, Pete." Steve dropped Tony's hand to pull Peter back from the exhibit.

"You can't hit the glass like that," Tony added, "That's his home, he doesn't like it."

"Oh." Peter frowned, dropping his hands. He raised one and knocked on the glass politely, albeit loudly. "Mi'ter man'tee, please come out an' play!"

"Sorry, Peter." Tony tried his hardest not to laugh. Steve, fully aware, subtly elbowed him. "I don't think he speaks Engli—"

To all of their amazement, the manatee chose that particular moment to swim up to the glass. Peter's jaw dropped and he immediately plastered himself back up to the glass with wide eyes and a breathless exclamation of awe, close enough he was leaving snotty noseprints. Oh well. Tony would make a donation of some sorts later.

They finished their usual circuit, a figure eight that encompassed all the required exhibits, including the interactive arachnid one that always sent Peter into a tizzy, the "Birds of a Feather" conservation one Tony liked, and the enormous, wall to wall sea life tanks that made Steve go adorably bug-eyed every time. They ended their tour at the Amazon café, where Peter started to get a little cranky—it was definitely past his usual nap time—but they entertained him by using the plastic animals that decorated their table to reenact bastardized scenes from Lion King.

"I know what I have to do," Tony rumbled, "But going back means facing my past, and I've been running from it for so long…"

Steve used his chimpanzee figurine to bop Tony's lion on the head. Peter burst into giggles.

"Hit 'im again, Papa!"

Steve obliged, and Tony gaped in mock dramatics. "Ow, jeez, what was that for?"

"It doesn't matter," Steve told him in his best approximation of a Rafiki voice, "It's in the past."

"Yeah, but it still hurts," Peter interrupted, eager to say the line himself.

"The past can hurt." Steve smiled at Peter. "You can run from it, or you can…"

"Learn from it," Peter answered dutifully, turning to Tony cheekily, "What'chu gonna do?"

"First," Tony declared, pushing his lion figure at Steve's chimp and taking the toothpick he'd been using, "I'm going to take your stick!"

"Oh no!" Steve exclaimed.

"Not the stick!" Peter gasped.

The waitress interrupted with an awkward cough. "Sorry. Your food?"

Tony held no embarrassment regarding dumb things caught doing in the name of entertaining his son, and simply cleared their things out of the way so she could serve them their food. By the time they finished lunch, Peter had grown whiny and impatient again and no amount of cajoling could get him to eat the rest of his mac and cheese. They eventually gave in—funny how a three year old could get them to concede ground in ways no madman with a death ray ever could—and headed home. Peter, unsurprisingly, fell unconscious just about the second they strapped him into his carseat. After hauling him upstairs and into his bed, Tony headed down to the family floor, where he found Steve surrounded by all the arts and crafts supplies they owned.

"Feeling artsy?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "I was thinking more along the lines of a quickie before Peter wakes up."

"That makes two valentines in a row you've forgotten." Steve glanced up at him in amusement.

"Peter's valentine." Tony winced. "Right. I would've remembered that."

"Sure you would've." Steve chuckled. "And I don't think a quickie while the toddler's down really embodies the Valentine's Day spirit."

"Suppose not." Tony joined him at the table, poking through the supplies. Steve had the basics started, four separate pieces of construction paper cut out and glued together to make one enormous heart. He started unfurling some of the lace for the edges while he talked. "I can still get reservations, if that's what you want. I can still get roses, too, and chocolates—"

"You're doing it again." Steve smiled at him softly, reaching across the table to take his hand. Even after so long, Tony's first impulse would always be to overcompensate when he felt he'd messed up. "We don't need the whole nine yards, sweetheart. Just a little time for you and me. That's all today's supposed to be about, anyway. Taking the time to remember the people who matter to us."

"You mean everything to me," Tony told him, raising Steve's hand to press a kiss to the back of it, "And I don't tell you that nearly enough."

"Would it be too sappy if I said I see in your eyes every day?"

"Without question."

"Good." Steve laughed.

Tony couldn't really explain it. It was something about Steve's laugh. The way he tipped his head back, maybe, or the way it made everything about him seem so much lighter, or it might've simply been the sound itself, familiar to Tony as the sound of his own breathing and just as integral. Steve's laugh had been the first thing Tony had ever loved about him. He could remember the moment with picture perfect clarity, not whatever joke he'd told but the moment Steve's head had gone back and he'd snorted briefly on the handful of fries he'd just inhaled before giving into real laughter, loud and long and the best sound Tony had ever heard. He'd been helpless to do anything but lean a little closer, smile a little warmer, fall a little harder.

"How would you feel about a trip down memory lane?" Tony offered, the idea taking hold now.

"Depends on where we're traveling," Steve countered curiously.

"Trust me?"

"Always," Steve answered immediately, scooting his chair close enough for a proper kiss.

"I'm going to give Bruce a call. Peter won't sleep past three, so when he wakes up we can do a little reading time, give him his valentine, maybe play a game or two, but we should get going around five. That work for you?"

"Sure." Steve smiled, but Tony could tell he was trying to work out where they were going.

"Don't think too hard." Tony smacked his thigh. "You'll ruin it."

"Alright, alright," Steve conceded. "Pass me the glitter glue?"

"You and your son," Tony muttered, "What is it with you two and glitter glue?"

"It's sparkly," Steve informed him seriously, his voice hitting a pitch strangely close to his Captain America voice. It was all Tony could do not to crack up; Steve knew immediately, of course, so he added in his most commanding voice, "It makes me feel like a pretty princess."

Tony lost it. Still trying to catch his breath, he flicked some of the leftover confetti sparkles from Peter's birthday at Steve's face. Steve squeezed his eyes shut. Blinked once. Twice. Rainbow sparkles fluttered off his eyelashes. Tony tried not to bust out laughing again at how ridiculous he looked.

"Ohh, you're going to regret that," Steve warned lowly.

"But you look so pretty, princess," Tony told him innocently.

A moment of challenging silence passed before Steve grabbed the tube and Tony bolted out of his chair, Steve no more than a second behind him. He made it only as far as the living room before Steve caught up with him, swept him off his feet one-handed and used the other to dump the entire canister of sparkles down the back of his shirt. Tony couldn't help a startled yelp, which only served to make Steve laugh in triumph. Tony elbowed him and Steve released his grip long enough for Tony to turn around, but the second he could get his hands on him properly Steve hoisted him up and into an enthusiastic kiss. They stumbled briefly before finding the couch by way of tumbling onto it accidentally, falling apart for a second or two as they reworked the positioning, but their couch was comfortably large and they'd made tighter spaces than this work to their advantage.

"You taste like sparkles." Tony blew out his lips, the sparkles he'd inhaled flying up and back into Steve's face.

"I wonder whose fault that is." Steve just grinned down at him.

"_I_ was simply trying to make our son a valentine, I can't be blamed if you can't stay on task."

"It's your fault." Steve nuzzled closer, the all too familiar teasing look in his eyes. "You've just got all this _animal magnetism, _I'm helpless to resist—"

Tony grinned and hooked an arm around his neck, kissing his wonderful dork of a husband until neither of them could catch a full breath.

"We're on borrowed time, here," Tony eventually reminded him, reluctant though he was.

"JARVIS?" Steve grumbled into Tony's shoulder.

"Young sir has been asleep for an hour and forty minutes, including car time."

"Mm." Steve hummed. "Just ten more minutes. It'll be fine."

"Shall I remind you?" JARVIS offered.

"Probably for the bes—" Tony started. Steve cut him off before he could finish.

JARVIS got the message, however, because he reminded them dutifully at the ten minute mark. Then again at fifteen. And again at twenty. They finally managed to disentangle when JARVIS reminded them of how horribly disappointed Peter would be were he not to receive a valentine, and returned to the kitchen to put together the best valentine their son would ever receive.

Competitive? What, them?

The final product was stunning, if Tony said so himself. It was bigger than Peter's whole head, with nicely laced edges, plenty of glitter, and the picture they'd gotten of the three of them at the zoo that morning glued right in the middle. _Will you be our valentine? _was written across the top in Steve's neat print.

When JARVIS told them Peter had woken up and was requesting permission to get out of bed now, they said to tell Peter to stay put and brought the valentine upstairs with them. Tony opened the door, Steve right behind him with the valentine hidden behind his back.

"Hey there, buddy. Get a good nap?"

"Yeah." Peter was sitting on his bed with one of his Thomas the Tank Engine books open in his lap, and he rubbed at his eyes. "Can I come out now? I wanna read with you."

"Sure thing. We've just got a question for you, first." Tony grinned, and Steve pulled out the valentine with a smile.

Peter's eyes lit up, and he all but leapt off the bed. He stretched his little arms as wide as they'd go to take it from Steve, and he held it up above his head like a trophy.

"Whoa!" Peter gasped in awe. "This is the biggest _ever!"_

"Will you be our valentine, Peter?" Steve asked, and Peter nearly dropped it in his rush to nod and say,

"Yeah!"

They helped Peter hang it on his corkboard, even let Peter do the pushpins himself when he promised to be careful. Peter was an avid reader and usually liked at least a half hour of book time after his naps, but having both parents together during the day was an unexpected treat and he continued to shove book after book at them long after the usual half hour mark. They switched off, voicing different characters at Peter's request, until more than an hour had flown by.

"I'll be right back, Pete," Tony assured, moving Peter out of his lap, "I've just got to make a quick call."

"Hurry!" Peter said urgently, "The wolf's comin' up."

"I can do the wolf, Pete." Steve patted his arm. "Let him make his call."

"No, Daddy has to do it," Peter insisted to Steve crossly, "You don't do the rumble."

"Okay, I'll be back in just two minutes to do the rumble." Tony promised seriously, stepping out of the room. He hit one of his speed dials, waited for it to finish ringing.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Brucie-bear. So, I was wondering about your plans—"

"Why are you calling me?" Bruce interrupted, confused, "I'm only two floors down."

"I promised Peter I'd only be a minute. Speaking of—"

"You need a babysitter," Bruce finished for him.

"How did you—?"

"It's Valentine's Day." Bruce chuckled. "We were only surprised you didn't ask sooner."

"We?"

"There was a bet about whether or not Peter would tell on Clint for the Dog Cops thing. If he didn't, it's Clint's week for babysitting and you'd have called him. Otherwise, well. Here you are."

"Here I am." Tony metaphorically crossed his fingers. "Any chance you could step up? Steve and I are sorely in need of a little romantic reboot."

"Of course." Bruce laughed. "Just bring him on down whenever you head out."

"You're a lifesaver."

"Da-ad!" Peter's mournful voice was loud enough Bruce probably heard him over the line. "You hafta do the _voice!"_

"Thirty seconds, Petey!" Tony called back, then to Bruce, "Did I mention lifesaver?"

"He's louder than Clint with an ice cream headache," Bruce remarked, "Didn't know that was possible."

"You're telling me." Tony laughed. "Thanks again."

"Anytime."

"Bruce is a go," Tony told Steve as he re-entered the room.

"You're talkin' to Uncle Bruce?" Peter perked up. "I wanna say hi."

"You can say hi to him in an hour or so." Tony rejoined them on the bed, pulling Peter into his lap. "He's going to watch you tonight while Papa and I go out."

"Without me?" Peter's lower lip wobbled, but it was signature faker, not real tears.

"Sometimes grown-ups need a little alone time, buddy." Steve leaned in, pressed a kiss to Peter's cheek anyway. "You know how sometimes you want it to be just you and Daddy, or just you and me, even though you still love us both?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, sometimes Daddy and I want to be alone together, too."

Peter mulled this over for a long minute. "But you'll finish reading to me first?"

"We'll finish reading first," Tony promised.

"And play 'saurs?"

"We can play dinosaurs for a little while," Steve agreed.

"Okay." Peter snuggled up against Tony's chest. "Finish this one then 'saurs."

"Finish this one…" Steve prompted.

"Please," Peter added quickly.

"Good boy." Tony kissed the top of his head. "Alright, what page were we on?"

After finishing The Three Little Pigs and a half hour of launching a dinosaur battle royale with Peter's assorted box of dinosaur junk—he was obsessed lately, and had everything from itty bitty plastic ones to larger mechanical ones that moved and even roared after Tony'd fiddled with them a bit—they got Peter to box up his toys and took him downstairs. They dropped him off with Bruce, and Peter was surprisingly well-behaved about it, giving them each a tight hug but not putting up any excess fuss.

"Do I get to know where we're going now?" Steve asked as they headed out to the garage, but Tony just shook his head impishly.

"Nope." Tony linked their fingers, tugged Steve into a quick kiss before releasing him and opening the passenger door. "It's called a surprise, darling. Surely you've heard of them?"

"Huh." Steve looked up at him, interest definitely piqued now. "You only get like this when you think you've got a winner up your sleeve."

"When I _know _I've got a winner up my sleeve," Tony corrected, closing the door behind Steve and heading around to the driver's side.

The ride was fairly peaceful for the first ten minutes or so, filled with idle conversation and Steve's hand in his over the divider. Then, Steve noticed which freeway Tony was taking. He pretended not to, but Tony didn't miss the bright flicker of a grin that darted over his face, or the way his hand went a little tighter, and Tony sighed.

"You guessed, didn't you?"

"Guessed what?" Steve asked innocently.

One of the first things Steve fell in love with about the future was not, in fact, from the future at all. Steve had stumbled across a cheesy, fifties era diner in his tour of the city when he'd first woken up, and _loved _it. Even after the Avengers met, even after they later became a real team, even after they all moved in together, Steve would still disappear every once in a while only to be found at some two-dollar-special diner humming along to whatever was on the jukebox. It wasn't a big deal, and it wasn't like he disappeared often. It was just a thing they learned, living with him. Steve liked fifties diners. Bruce liked making windowsill gardens. Clint liked sleeping with his eyes open to scare the shit out of people. It was just a thing. Tony had teased him about it, and Steve had just responded that, someday, Tony would get it.

When Steve had found him in the shop late one night, months if not a year later, and told him without a trace of sarcasm, _I've found the one, _diners were not what came to mind.

Tony's heart had stopped a little, his thoughts flashing straight to romance, to Steve finding the one girl he was going to settle down and live his life with. Tony had been so busy aching with the regret of not asking Steve to dinner when he'd had the chance that he almost missed Steve asking him if he would like to come have dinner with him at Sally's. Tony had spent the whole drive thinking horrifically uncharitable thoughts about girls named Sally and ways he could "accidentally" break some of her appliances while pretending to use her restroom during dinner. He'd been nothing less than stunned when they wound up at a diner instead, an hour and a half out of town, called Sally's.

"_What are we doing here?" Tony squinted up at the dingy sign._

"_I told you, I found the one." Steve clasped his hand, tugged him along. "You'll like it, I know you will."_

"_You've been looking for _months _just to find some dumb diner to impress me?"_

_Steve blinked, taken aback. Tony hadn't meant to say it that, well, dickishly, but before he could apologize Steve answered, a hint of confusion wrinkling his brow, "Well, yeah."_

"_Why?"_

"_I wanted our first date to be special."_

"_Our…what?"_

"_I asked you to go out to dinner with me." The wrinkle deepened. "What did you think I meant?"_

"_How about we never, ever discuss what I thought you meant and stick with your plan instead?"_

Later in the night, Steve managed to weasel what Tony originally thought out of him by promising not to laugh. He _had_ laughed, but Tony had fallen for him over that laugh, so he figured in the grand scheme of things it didn't really matter too much. Sally's had sparked their whole relationship; where better to relight it?

"You're the worst liar," Tony told him.

"Maybe." Steve squeezed his hand again. "But you're the _best _husband, and I'd absolutely be showing my appreciation for that if you weren't driving."

"Well, there _is _this thing called 'road head'—"

"I'll show my appreciation when it won't get us killed." Steve rolled his eyes.

"Oh, hey, look, I think I can pull over here…" Tony teased. Steve laughed for a moment, then paused. Frowned thoughtfully.

They exchanged a glance.

"It _has _been a while…" Steve began.

"Did we ever even break this car in?" Tony pointed out.

"We should have."

"It's tradition, right?"

"Right, no reason to break tradition now."

"I'm pretty sure that's like a rite of passage for our cars, honestly, if cars had rights of passage—"

"Tony?"

"Pulling over."

Tony barely had the keys out of the ignition before Steve was manhandling him into the back seat. He bumped his head on the roof, his knee on the divider, and his elbow on the headrest, while Steve was so busy trying to keep Tony from bumping anything else that he missed his footing and essentially somersaulted into the backseat after him. They managed it without blood loss or any noticeable concussions though, so Tony was counting it a win.

Getting their clothes off proved somehow more difficult—seriously, he remembered this going a lot faster a couple years ago—and he wound up getting Steve's shirt halfway over his head before they realized that with Steve under him there wasn't enough room for Steve's arms to extend all the way. Steve tried to sit up and take it off that way, but he sat up too fast and, since he couldn't see, bonked heads with Tony in the process.

After a few minute of Tony sniping at Steve to just rip the stupid thing off while Steve insisted he couldn't, that he didn't have another shirt to wear to dinner, they finally put their heads together in a non-literal sense and tried to roll over instead. If they switched places, Steve would be able to use the extra space to get the shirt off. This ended with Tony somehow jammed in the space behind the front seat and Steve banging his head on the roof.

"This is _so much harder than I remember," _Tony hissed, struggling to wriggle out from the gap and get back up on the seat.

"Hurts a hell of a lot more too." Steve rubbed a hand to the back of his head.

"Give me a hand?" Tony threw his up and Steve grasped it. He tried to tug, but Tony was still stuck.

"Throw your leg up on the seat," Steve suggested.

"I'm trying to."

"Just pull your knee closer to your chest to get it free, then throw it up and I'll pull."

"My knee doesn't _go_ any closer to my chest, I'm not a pretzel."

"Yes it does, just tuck yourself in a little more."

"There's nowhere _to_ tuck, I'm using all the available space, I don't even know how I fit in here in the first place!"

"Okay, c'mere." Steve got his hand down, pulled Tony's knee up and over so he could throw his leg onto the seat. "Told you so."

"Shut up and kiss me, smartass," Tony grumbled, wrapping a hand around Steve's neck and yanking him in before he could gloat anymore.

Staying on their knees was easiest for maneuverability, and probably the only way they got his clothes and Steve's pants off, but eventually his knees threatened to give out on him. They attempted a couple of different, increasingly uncomfortable and or impossible angles, but having Tony on his back with the seat belts clickers digging into his spine was eventually deemed the lesser of the apparently many evils to be found in their deathtrap of car. They were finally starting to rediscover their groove a little bit when there was a loud bang on the car window.

"Goddamn teenagers," someone grumbled, and they both froze, "Time to move along."

Tony dropped his head back with a groan. Naturally, right onto one of the goddamn car seat clickers. _"_Ow, _fuck!"_

"Don't take that tone with me!" whoever it was shouted back, "This isn't a parking area, you brats."

"I have to admit I'm strangely flattered," Steve whispered.

"Shut _up, _Steve," Tony growled.

"I don't see any movement," whoever it was—probably a police officer, because wasn't that just their luck—warned them, "You've got to the count of ten to get yourselves decent."

"It took us an hour to get _in_decent!" Tony complained.

"Nine," the officer rattled off, "Eight."

"Motherfucker…" Tony hissed, grabbing his pants and tossing Steve his shirt. He managed to finish as the officer hit one, and he slammed open the door of the car and stumbled out. Steve was still changing, but whatever.

"Sir, how old are you?" The officer demanded, clearly taken aback, "Are you aware that even consensual sex with a minor is a felony—"

Steve's immediate, gut-busting laughter from inside the car didn't exactly help Tony's eloquence.

"Do you seriously not know who I am?" was about all he managed. And yeah, okay, it was dark and the streetlights were shitty and he didn't exactly look like his press shots right now, but _seriously?_

"Is that a yes or a—" the officer, now offended, was about to demand an answer, so Tony flashed the asshole his ring.

"He's my _husband._ And he's like two hundred years old."

"A hundred and eight, actually." Steve exited the car at last, fully clothed and still clearly trying not to laugh. "Steve Stark, nice to meet you."

"Stark?" The officer's eyebrows shot up. He glanced between them. The moment he realized they were exactly who he thought they were, Tony could practically see his career flashing before his eyes. "I just accused Tony Stark of having nonconsensual sex with a minor."

"Yes you did." Tony clapped a hand to his shoulder. "So how about we both agree to forget this ridiculous miscarriage of justice ever happened so I don't sue you when I see this story on TMZ—"

"Let's not get carried away," Steve interrupted with a touch to Tony's other hand, quelling him for the moment, "We appreciate you doing your job with due diligence, officer. We're sorry for the mix-up. I assume an officer of the law such as yourself wouldn't stoop to something as low as gossiping about this?"

"Of course not, sir." Tony could practically see the stars in the officer's eyes.

"Mr. Stark is fine." Steve shot him his press smile.

"Of course, Mr. Stark." The officer backed away. "I mean, Mr. Starks. Have a good night."

"He's going to tell every friend he has and plenty he doesn't," Tony grumbled.

"We've taken bad press before." Steve looped an arm around his waist. "And all he discovered was that we're still in love with each other and got a little carried away trying to relive the old days on Valentine's. I think I can handle those headlines."

Tony shot a betrayed glance at the car. "You don't want to try again, do you?"

"Absolutely not," Steve answered immediately.

"Thank god." Tony let out the breath he'd been holding, and he relaxed into Steve embrace. "I mean, we have a bed, right? I didn't imagine having a nice, soft bed that doesn't dig into my back or crush me into small spaces and leaves me as much room to ravish my clearly way-too-young-looking husband as I want?"

"No, you didn't imagine our bed." Steve chuckled.

Tony turned his head enough to bury his face in Steve's shoulder. "Steve?"

"Home?" Steve kissed the top of his head knowingly.

"Everything hurts and a cop called me a pedophile," Tony mumbled glumly.

"We'll go another time." Steve tightened his arms around him comfortingly.

"I'm sorry. I had a plan, it was a great plan—"

"And you know I always love your plans." Steve's hands rubbed up his back, and ohh that felt fantastic. "But we've still got a few child-free hours to go home and enjoy our nice, soft, _spacious_ bed…"

"Mm…and what are my chances of getting one of your amazing massages first?" Tony leaned back into Steve's wonderful hands. Steve started kneading lightly.

"It's still Valentine's Day, after all," Steve reminded him with a smile, "I think you can get just about anything you want."

Their spark, Tony decided as Steve proceeded to hoist him into his arms and pepper his face with kisses, was doing just fine.


End file.
